Boundless

Final Chapterㅋㅋㅋ

 
"Haeyani, hold still for Daddy," I whispered with a laugh, fingers gently adjusting the satin bow on her tiny gown.

She blinked up at me, the way children do when they don't yet understand the world but trust it anyway—trust you. One chubby hand was stuffed in her mouth, drool dripping down her chin, and yet her innocence radiated like warm sun after rain. Jae crouched, fussing with the hem of her dress, tongue sticking out in concentration. The way he handled her—gentle but sure, clumsy but devoted—made something in me ache and swell at once.

"She looks like a little princess," he said, kissing her soft cheek.

"No, she looks like a queen," I corrected with a smirk, scooping her into my arms. "The birthday queen."

Upstairs, the soft creak of doors signaled that our son was stirring. "I'll wake up Pierre," Jae murmured. "Get him into his little suit." I nodded, rocking Haeyani gently against my chest.

One whole year. One full revolution of the sun since she was laid upon my chest, screaming and red and full of life. I could still remember the shock in Jae Eun's eyes when I told him we were expecting again. His mouth had opened and closed a dozen times before he finally settled on laughter—real, wild, joyous laughter. And then he'd held me so tight I thought I might disappear into him.

Pierre had been gentle, quiet, observant. Our little old soul. But Haeyani—she came out fighting. She clung to Jae's collar like he was her lifeline, grinned with every toothless gum, and turned her father into nothing more than a puddle on hardwood floors.

Downstairs, I moved like a practiced symphony: porridge bubbling on the stove, bibs laid out like war gear, spoons clinking against ceramic bowls. Haeyani babbled in her high chair, fingers grabbing the air, while I prepped lunch for Jae. Every motion felt like a prayer, a poem in motion—a mother's dance.

This year, we were celebrating at Ms. Park's restaurant. The bakery had blossomed into a full-blown dining haven—a mix of Seoul's warmth and Parisian elegance. Our friends gathered there often, but lately, our time had belonged to diapers and lullabies, to scraped knees and midnight feedings.

Jae had been busy too—no longer just a husband, or a father. Now he stood at the helm of a legacy, one his father had tarnished but he would cleanse. Fraud, bribery, gangs—the headlines were ugly. But Jae Eun had rewritten the narrative with dignity and grit. He took his father's corporation and turned it into something new, something pure. He never told me the full weight he carried, but I could see it in the way he exhaled when he looked at our children. Like they were his compass, his why.

"Babe!" Jae called from upstairs. "Have you seen my grey-and-white tie? The one that matches Pierre's?"

"With your socks! Bottom drawer!"

He came down, tie draped loosely around his neck, Pierre giggling in his arms, every inch his twin. I tied the knot for him with practiced fingers, tugged it straight, and brushed imaginary lint from his collar.

"You look so handsome," I said.

He blushed like we were still twenty.

"Don't start anything, Mrs. Min," he teased, hands sliding around my waist.

I kissed him, soft and slow. "Feed the babies. I'm going to get dressed before I cry over how beautiful my own life is."

—

The restaurant was alive with color and laughter. Streamers floated like butterflies above our heads, and the smell of soy glaze and fresh pastries warmed the air.

"Happy birthday, Haeyani," Ms. Park cooed, lifting her granddaughter toward the cake.

"Appa! Cake!" Pierre cried, tugging Jae's pants.

Everyone clapped as Haeyani blew her candle—well, more like drooled on it—and she let out a triumphant squeal. She was dressed in traditional hanbok, red with golden cranes, her hair in tiny buns like peaches. Cameras flashed. Minhyuk snapped photos like a madman, calling her name, trying to capture joy in motion.

Pierre smeared icing across his cheeks, and I gasped.

"I've got him," Jae whispered with a kiss to my temple, already rising with a wet wipe. I watched him from my chair—watched the man who once panicked over changing diapers now kneel to wipe his son's sticky face with such care it made my chest ache.

Chanyeol played photographer and godfather, flashing grins and jokes in between shots. Everyone was there—friends who'd seen our love bloom and falter and rise again. There was something unspoken in the air. Not just celebration, but reverence. We had made it. Not just through the year, but through everything.

And then, Jae was in front of me. Before I could blink, he'd scooped me up into his arms, and the room exploded with applause and laughter.

"Jae!" I laughed. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," he whispered. "Mrs. Athena Min. My wife. The mother of my children. My heart. You carried not just our babies, but me. Through every storm. Through every fear. You didn't just say yes to marrying me—you said yes to us. And I know it hasn't been three years yet, but I want to ask you again, now, in front of everyone. Will you marry me, again? This time with a big wedding, flowers, music, and the whole world watching?"

Tears fell like soft petals down my cheeks. I nodded, unable to speak, heart so full I feared it might burst. The crowd clapped, gasped, sighed.

"I love you," I whispered.

He kissed my lips. "I love you too."

"Where are we going?" I asked as he took my hand, rushing us out the back door, past paparazzi flashes and cheers.

"My mom's got the kids. Come on."

We ran—two fools in formalwear, darting through alleyways like teenagers, his tie flying behind him, my heels clicking like jazz. We stopped suddenly, and I realized where we were.

The park.

Our park.

Where it had all begun. It had rained that day—gray skies and heavy hearts. But now, the sun was golden, spilling like honey through the leaves.

"This place," I whispered. "You brought me here, when I was lost."

"And you found me," he said, voice thick.

Then, just like that—he dropped to one knee.

"Again?" I whispered, breathless.

"Again. Always."

He held out a ring—a sapphire this time, deep as oceans, clear as truth. I knelt with him, because why not?

"Yes," I said. "A thousand times yes."

He kissed me, and the world went quiet.

Our story is not one of fairy tales, but of lived-in love. Of sleepless nights and spit-up on shoulders. Of shared toothbrushes and burnt toast. Of first steps and second chances.

He is pale as moonlight. I am the shade of rich, carved wood. And together, we are a poem in motion—two lines written in different languages, rhyming anyway.

We are what happens when love refuses to be bound by borders, when it chooses kindness over ego, and laughter over silence.

This isn't the end. It's a new beginning.

And oh, what a beautiful one it is.

The End.